My Journal

By Harriman Nelson

~In God We Trust~

18

“You really think she can pull it off?” Chip asked as I finished shaving this morning, nicking myself. Lack of sleep will do that.

“She has my ‘kinship need to know’ authority regarding my medical records when I was treated there some years ago. All she has to do is sign in and request Lee’s MRI transparencies based on their file numbers pretending they’re mine. I doubt if Records will bother to look any further....”

“But if the clerk is a stickler for details, and wants to verify the patient’s name....”

“Then Edith will use her considerable skills of misdirection and distraction.”

“I don’t know, sir....”

“Breaking news, sir,” Sparks’ voice came over the PA, and the monitor sprang to life...

“...We’re bringing you live from the Oval Office,” the Fox reporter said, and the camera focused on the acting president seated at the Resolute desk.

“...My fellow Americans, I speak to you with a heavy heart. It has been determined that former President Nelson-Crane will not be able to resume the office of the presidency in accordance with Amendment 25. Therefore, I will be considered incumbent president without any future limitation.

“...You will be glad to know that Mr. Nelson-Crane is scheduled to be released from Walter Reed as an outpatient shortly.

“...Once he and his mother have been moved out of the White House, they will take up temporary residence at Blair House, the presidential guest house, until a decision is made as to their new legal residence or residences as the case may be.

“...I and the nation wish Mr. Nelson-Crane well in his new life as a private citizen,” he concluded his speech as the morning sunlight shone from the window behind him onto his gold Rolex, his Amethyst, Diamond cluster, Harvard class, and gold signet rings, and his ‘USA’ lapel pin.

As Fox switched to a morning talk show, Sparks turned the broadcast off.

“Our ‘president’ doesn’t mean a word of it,” Chip said, “about wishing Lee well.”

“Pure politics,” I agreed with a sigh. “At least we know Lee’s being released today. Then we can’t be stopped from contacting Lee.”

“Not sure about that if Lee’s going to be in Blair House. Makes me wonder if the place was ‘recommended’ for him before he and his mom decide where to go.”

“Well, Lee is still officially my business partner and...”

“Admiral?” Sparks called over the PA. “Miss Nelson for you. Cell phone call.”

“Pipe it through to my cabin. Make it secure.”

“Harry?” she asked coming into focus on the monitor after a moment, looking windblown and harried outside the gate to Walter Reed. “I’m sorry. Complete bust. I’m not your dependent, and you didn’t issue them a request for me to pick up anything. Bureaucratic red tape...but, I do have a date with one of the records clerks...maybe he’ll give me a tour of the place and my sticky fingers can do the rest...got a nice big lead lined tote with me,” she showed off the green tote. Which had ‘Go Army’ on it...as Walter Reed had been Army until recently.

“I very greatly doubt that,” I replied, “but, do your best...”

“For Lee, I’d trod on hot burning coals,” she said and hung up.

The monitor went blank.

“So would everyone who’s ever known him,” I said proudly. “Well, let’s go get some breakfast.”

***

I was just sitting down to my plate of scrambled eggs across from Chip and O’Brien when the klaxon sounded.

“Battle Stations! Battle Stations!” Ski’s voice came over the PA.

There was no need to ask Chip if this was a drill. He and Frank and everyone were already running out the door, me following. Before I, in the rear of the stampede, even reached the Control Room’s knee knocker, the battle station chiefs were already reporting that they were standing by.

“All Battle Station chiefs report manned and ready, Captain,” Ski told him.

“What do we have?”

“Radar had a bogey.”

“Not there now,” O’Brien said while inspecting Pat’s console, “not even on extended radar. “You over reacted, Ski.”

“I saw the blip myself, sir. If it configured like a missile and acted like a missile, it’s a safe bet that is was and that its trajectory and arc indicated it was headed to Arizona and....”

“Sparks? Any DOD reports of Fail Safe activation?”

“No sir.”

“Very well,” Chip said. “Let’s assume for the moment that it was a missile and it slipped under anyone else’s radar. Did you check for imbedded signals to determine origin? ”

“That’s what’s weird,” Pat said. “We couldn’t ID it at all, sir.”

“One of our major Air Force bases is in Tucson,” I said.

Chip picked up a wall mike, “Chief Sharkey, prepare long range intercept and attack missiles for possible launch. Sparks?” he added, “Contact the DOD war room. Report we had a bogey on radar, possibly headed to Arizona and our Fail Safe has not kicked in...we can estimate its coordinates to fire our intercepts.”

While we waited for our message to get through, I suddenly remembered that I hadn’t told Emmie lately how much I loved her.

“The president, sir,” Sparks said and flipped the monitor on. It was the Oval Office.

“Do you really want to be removed from Seaview, Morton? Your bogey’s one of ours. A test launch for our fly boys to practice diverting or shooting down. Didn’t your boys ID the damn thing?”

“Our equipment didn’t pick up any ID,” Chip said. “And why weren’t we informed of a test launch? Would have saved us and you some time and trouble.”

“No ID?” Lee’s voice preceded him coming into view.

“This is none of your business, Mr. Crane,” the president said. “Get back to your packing. And stay out of here.”

“Winston lost one of his chew toys,” Lee said coming into view behind the chair’s occupant, “How’s my baby, Chip? Aside from her apparent equipment failure.”

“It was my fault, Skipper,” Kowalski interrupted.

“No sir,” Pat piped up, “It had to have been mine. I sure thought I was entering the correct code to determine its ID...”

“Seaview was sent the new codes, wasn’t she?” Lee asked the president.

“How the hell should I know? I leave all the details to the DOD...”

“I’ll look into it,” Lee said.

“You’ll do nothing of the kind,” the president chided him, “you’re a civilian now, remember? Oh, that’s right, you probably can’t, being brain damaged and all.”

“Don’t you speak to him like that!” Mrs. C. just off camera range, shouted ,“And I don’t appreciate you stealing his G.W. ring!”

“Not now, Mom,” Lee warned.

“This is the president’s ring,” the man in the big chair said, “and I’m the president. Remember, Lee only agreed to wear it if he could consider George Washington’s ring as presidential regalia....”

“I was at the inauguration too, Mr. President,” Mrs. C. said, “and he didn’t say anything like that.”

“He bowed his head and let you put it on his finger after the chief justice indicated the donor said if it made him feel better he could consider an emblem of office. Bowing his head like that, well, might be hard in a court of law not to equate that little action with acquiescence of it as such.”

“You took it out of the envelope of Lee’s belongings without signing for it,” Joe said, coming into view at the side of the president. “And his without his permission to do so, even before he was released from the hospital!”

“My right as the president. But,” he said as he pulled the gold signet ring off and placed it on the desktop, “if you didn’t really mean accepting it on behalf of the nation, Lee, take it back.”

Silence in the Oval Office. Silence aboard Seaview.

I could see the haunted look in Lee’s eyes, well, in his real one. The other, I could tell was one of his glass eyes, ill fitting, its iris a shade of green that did not match the hazel of his own. Sadly, I knew exactly what Lee was going to do. It was just the way he was.

“Lee, take it!” Mrs. C. said. “It’s your ring, yours. The donor meant it for you! Only added that bit about the presidency to get you to wear it...”

“I know....but...I won’t dishonor the presidency even if the current president is a dishonorable man and an even worse president.”

“You realize,” the president said, “that I could easily just kick you both out of the White House right now? And cancel Blair House? I can just click my fingers and the staff will clear out all of your belongings and dump them outside of the White House gate. You’re only still here because the country expects me to be nice to its poor brain damaged nearly assassinated former president.”

Mrs. C. leaned over the president menacing, but before she could say anything Lee took her arm and gently pulled her away.

“This is not the end of it,” she said. “not by a long shot.”

“There you are,” the new First Lady said as she entered with a fern. “Almost lunch. I hope you three can join us?”

“I have a little business to attend to,” her husband told her, “but you four go ahead...”

“All right, dear,” the First lady sighed and gave him a kiss. “The job sure takes up his time....”

“Don’t I know it,” Mrs. C. said as the women left, turning their heads, waiting for Lee and Joe to follow.

“I’ll join you in a second,” Lee told them, leaving the president and he alone.

“Chip,” Lee said, “If I could, I’d give you and the crew a presidential citation for being more on the ball than our commander in chief is.”

“Aren’t you forgetting something? The offer’s still on the table, literally,” the president mocked, picking up the ring with his fingers, taunting, daring Lee to take it.

Lee surprised him (and us) by taking it into his hands. But he didn’t put it on. He just studied it.

“I’m truly sorry, George, you deserve better,” Lee said reverently to the ring and placed it back on the desktop, then departed.

With a smirk the president pulled it back onto his finger then glared at the videophone.

“You still here?” he mocked and turned the videophone off.

“Man, what a jerk,” Ski muttered.

“Midshipman Kowalski,” I said. “that is not something one usually says to the president of the United States.”

“It is when he’s just the acting president, sir. Or is Captain Morton’s policy not in effect anymore?”

“It is,” Chip smirked, and picked up the mike, “Secure from battle stations.” Then after he returned the mike to its cradle, “O’Brien. you have a little scrambled egg on the corner of your mouth.”

“Sorry, sir.” Frank said, wiping his mouth with the cuff of his sleeve.

“And that, Ski, ” I said, “is not how an officer wipes his mouth. Except, of course in or just after an emergency takes one away from breakfast. Speaking of which,” I added and headed aft.

***

“Hi sweetheart,” I told Emmie after breakfast on my cabin’s videophone. “I hope I didn’t disturb you,” I added, seeing that she was in her fluffy pink robe and curlers.

“Don’t you ever touch me again!” she said and promptly vomited into the kitchen’s lined and convenient step punch wastebasket. Wiping her mouth, she looked directly at me. “I’m not supposed to have morning sickness any more. Just once, I wish you men would realize what you put us through just to have your wicked ways with us!”

“Sorry,” I said as compassionate as I could, “Just called to say I love you.”

“Oh, sweetheart, I’m sorry...I’ve just felt so miserable...”

“Breaking news,” Sparks interrupted over the PA. “Mrs. Crane’s an unexpected guest on Good Morning America. Or will be, looks like they’re talking to her outside of a Washington Starbucks.”

“What was that, dear?” Emmie asked as the cabin’s monitor turned on.

“Let’s just say I have a feeling Lee is going to have a little talk with his mother shortly,” I sighed. “And there may be hell to pay with the president....turn on ‘Good Morning America’ Don’ worry, I’m not ending our call....”

“...We’re at one of the local D.C. Starbucks,” one of the popular morning show hosts was saying, “where Mrs. Crane, mother of the former president, has requested an opportunity to speak with us...”

“...Thank you for accommodating me,” Mrs. C. said from her seat at the outside table, a foamy brew in front of her.

“...Before we continue, let me say on behalf of Good Morning America, and I’m sure most Americans, how very much we’re relieved that President Nelson-Crane survived the assassination attempt. How is he doing?”

“...He’s doing fine. I’m the one who isn’t. You see, when he checked out of Walter Reed, his belongings, you know, his jewelry, watch, etc. that had been placed into an envelope, had already been unsealed. And his George Washington ring had been removed...by the president.”

“...The president?”

“...He doesn’t deny that he used what he called executive privilege to have the envelope handed over to him. He also doesn’t deny the fact that he never got permission from my son or from me to do so! And he’s been wearing the G.W. ring since, claiming it’s his right to so, as president. But it’s not his right at all! First he tampers with a patient’s personal belongings, then he steals one of the contents! That ring that belongs to Lee! We had a big to-do about it at the White House. You see, the president just assumed, or gave the indication that he assumed, that the G.W. ring was the nation’s. And that as president, it was his to wear.”

“...But didn’t the chief justice, at the inauguration, say that the donor had written that if President Nelson-Crane found it difficult to accept the gift that he could consider it the president’s ring? Nelson-Crane did bow his head at that...”

“...He was overcome, that’s all. At no time did ever say or write down that it was to be the president’s.”

“...What has former President Nelson-Crane said about the present situation?”

“...Well, Lee, being Lee, didn’t want to make a fuss, especially when the president took it off, sat it on the desktop and told him to take it back if he wanted. Lee should have. But I think the president had managed to convince him that Lee had been wearing it as the president and not the man. Lee did tell the president that he, the president, was a dishonorable man, but that the office of the president wasn’t.”

“...Right to his face?”

“..I think we all know that Lee’s not afraid to speak his mind! I don’t know what Lee and the president said to each other in private after the new First Lady came to collect us all for lunch because Lee and the president stayed behind. When Lee finally joined us, the president remaining behind in the Oval Office for ‘business’, Lee wasn’t wearing the ring. I have to say that if the president was so adamant about the ring belonging to the president, why not wait and simply ask Lee after he was released from Walter Reed? Disgraceful behavior for the president of the United States. Disgraceful!”

“...Have you been able to speak to the ring’s donor? It may be the only way to discover for sure if the ring was intended as a personal gift or a presidential one.”

“...I doubt if we could find out the donor’s identity easily, but I think the jeweler who sold it might be able to.”

“Damn,” I muttered.

“Harry? Ohmygod...it was you!”

“Lee deserved it. He’d been so impressed with it when he saw it on TV...”

“How much?”

“Our planned trip to Alaska...and Tahiti...and...”

“Never mind,” Emmie said. “But, you might want to identify yourself and put the matter to rest by telling the president, the press, and Lee, just what you wanted.”

“I’m afraid Lee took it out of my hands by bowing his head like that...and not taking it back from the president....”]\

“...Well,” Mrs. C. was continuing after the show’s host pretty much said the same thing. “I still think the president’s actions are despicable and....”

Suddenly the klaxon rang out and the monitor shut off.

“Battle Stations! Battle Stations!” Chip hollered over the PA. “Fail Safe Officers, man your stations!”

“Have to run,” I told Emmie and clicked off the videophone.

As before everyone was reporting their battle and fail safe stations manned and ready when I made it to the Control Room.

O’Brien grabbed the code book for Seaview’s designated launch coordinates as per our launch capability for any bogeys while Chip pulled out his Fail Safe key and stood by his station.

“Looks like the skipper told the DOD what for,” Ski said proudly. “Bet he wishes he were here.”

“He may very well wish he were,” I said, “but I think he’d rather be in the Oval Office, where he belongs.”

Nearly every man pounded on their consoles. For them, past skipper, president, or civilian, in their eyes, Lee could do no wrong.

As the hours dragged on, we launched salvos of our intercept/attack missiles as directed. Without asking for it, our monitor turned on giving us access to the situation room, where monitors showed maps and satellite videos of the PR Alliance’s new all-out attack on the United States, and the NATO nations.

And indeed, it was getting more difficult to for our land, sea, and air defenses to divert the PR’s missiles into the seas and barren areas without exploding the warheads, but so far we hadn’t had any big booms. Death Valley was certainly a convenient non-populated ‘scrap area’ for the diverted missiles to skid onto unexploded.

And then the big bang we all feared happened.

“The Grand Canyon’s been hit,” one of the generals said as the satellite showed the blip explode into a nuclear mushroom cloud. A blessing in that it was an unpopulated area, a tragedy that one of our natural wonders would be scarred for life.

“Fourteen more PR missiles in our sights and a couple of squadrons of their jet fighters and bombers....”

“Time for you to clear out of Dodge, Mr. President,” the secretary of state said. “Air Force One is waiting.”

“Get me the premier,” the president said.

Silence.

“You can’t think of surrendering!”

“No, but we might be able to buy some time for our team if we make an approach for talks. Now, get me the premier.”

As the call went through, unanswered, we watched the diversion of missiles and dog fights with the PR jets in the air above much of the United States and NATO nations.

“What the hell?” one of the Army general’s asked of a passenger jet aircraft coming into view midway between Washington and New York.

“Looks like a Citation M,” an Air Force general replied.

“It says it’s a B-007,” the president said.

“Donald?” the general called out, “See where that Citation came from. And that it looks as if B-007 was spray painted on its tail. Along with a red racing stripe.”

“FAA’s trying to contact...they report the transponder’s not responding.”

“Damn, just what we need, terrorists!” the president said. “What are you waiting for, General? Shoot it down

“This is Flyboy 007,” a disembodied but very familiar, (and irritated) voice said over the static. “Keep your pants on, Mr. President. I may not like or approve of you personally, but we’re on the same team.”

“Oh gawd, Oh gawd, Skipper,” Riley whined.

“What’s wrong, Riley?” Lee asked.

“Well, for one thing,” Chip said, “have you been authorized to pilot an aircraft again yet?”

“Technically?”

“Is that really you Mr. President?” the general asked.

“JCML right now, if you don’t mind.”

“You’re in the way! Bring that plane down!” the president demanded. “And how did you get access to the situation room. All codes were changed!”

“Let’s just say I have my sources. Joe and I are going to run a little interference before your flyboys duking it out elsewhere can join us to clear the skies of a couple bogeys we think are headed to Liberty Island.”

Liberty Island?” Riley asked.

“Where the Statue of Liberty is,” O’Brien said.

“Nelson-Crane, I ordered you to bring your plane down! I’m your commander in chief, for God’s sake!

“The hell you are,” Joe said. “Since you removed Lee from the Reserves, and me from active service, we’re 100% civilian. You’re just a fat ass chair warmer.”

“Joe~” Lee warned. “His ass isn’t that fat.”

“I’m the president, damn it!”

“Er, actually, Skipper,” Ski interrupted, “the president’s within his executive powers to recall both of you, as long as you were honorably discharged...”

“There was nothing honorable about what he did, sailor,” Joe said.

“We can’t have a brain damaged man in the services!” the president roared.

“There’s brain damaged, and brain damaged,” Lee said.

“What the hell does that mean?”

“Bogey’s in visual range, Lee,” Joe interrupted.

“Prepare for Operation Mosquito.”

“What does he mean? What does he mean?” the president demanded.

“It means,” Joe said, “that we’re going to bait the bogeys into moving away from their target. The mosquito part is biting them, hypothetically.”

“What will you do for weaponry?” the general said, “Citation’s are passenger commuters! Tell him it’s a lost cause, Nelson!”

“Oh, we know that,” Lee said, “but by the time the Flying Sub could get here, if she was free to do so, it would be too late. We did think about paint balls to sting the bogeys with. Actually, not a bad idea. We could depressurize the cabin, pull on the oxygen masks, open the windows and fire. Cloud their windshields and foul up their engines and afterburners...except we don’t have any.”

“And whose fault is that?” Joe chided. “We had to go back to the White House for you to get your secret weapon.”

“Secret weapon?” the president demanded. “What secret weapon?”

“His eyeball, of course,” Joe said.

“It was on special assignment,” Lee added.

“I suppose you think that’s funny Mister,” the president said, “but I suppose brain damage will do that.”

“Brain damage, my ass,” the general said. “though I don’t understand the joke. Looks like you’re coming up on those two bogeys...there’s still time to turn back, sir.”

“Sorry, our course is set. By the way, Harry, if we manage to survive all this, remind me that I’d like to buy one of these Citations. Maybe we can go halves on it.”

“Mr. President, the premier is returning your call.”

“You’re talking to him?” Lee asked, incredulous.

“My job to check out all options for the best interest of the nation.”

“Yes, of course, but...”

“And you can forget about us sending any of our squadrons to join you. Can’t risk any losses over a statue, if that’s the bogey’s target. It can be rebuilt. So if you insist on your suicide flight, you’re on your own.”

“Lady Liberty may only be a statue, but she’s a symbol of what our nation is. And I for one, believe she’s worth fighting for, even dying for. Flyboy 007 out.”

“Now that’s my kind of hero,” one of the general’s said. “God speed, Mr. President.”

“Stop that!” the president shouted. “I’m the president, not him! Good God!” With that he picked up the special receiver. “No, Mr. Premier, we’re not surrendering...I called to see if you may be open to negotiations for a cease fire...hello? Hello? He hung up on me.”

“Flyboy 007 has made visual contact with the two bogeys,” one of the staffers said sadly.

We watched the satellite images in horror. The Citation, of course, was no match for state of the art fighter jets. She was like an elephant in a pride of Cheetahs. Still, Operation Mosquito was living up to its namesake as Lee and Joe maneuvered up, down, and sideways in between the bogeys, above, below, and even in spiral patterns, as best as they could with the craft, in the effort to bait the bogey’s away from firing range toward the Statue of Liberty.

It was just as difficult for us to listen in on the boy’s relatively calm orders one to the other as the Citation pierced the sky this way and that, barely evading the firepower of the bogeys.

“That should have hit,” one of the generals muttered. “Perhaps their fighters aren’t as advanced as we thought...the bogeys seem to be firing from the hip. Any word on our squadrons nationally?”

“No losses on radar or reported of ours yet,” a staffer replied. “We’ve gotten in several kills, figuratively, of the enemy. Ejection seats and parachutes seen...but no mention the enemy fighters firing from the hip...Flyboy 007 must be tangling with older model fighters...”

Lady Liberty herself could do nothing but stand silent witness in the fight to preserve her iconic presence.

Cumulous clouds were starting to obscure things. Twice the puffy clouds were illuminated with green lightning.

“What the hell was that?” the president asked.

“Lasers,” a general said just as an orange glow filled the marshmallow cloud.

“The skipper got one!” Riley exclaimed as two ejector seats fell from the cloud followed by the plane, split in half, on fire and falling to the sea after them.

“Easy,” Ski told him. “It ain’t over.”

“Where the hell did Nelson-Crane get lasers?” the president asked, as more beams were aimed at the remaining fighter, while it fired on the Citation in mortal combat, nearly colliding before each aircraft flew apart to turn and face each other again, before the clouds once again obscured the view.

“Still with me, Joe?” Lee asked as I held my breath, the Citation’s port engine on fire, holes in her fuselage, revealing fire inside, and a nearly shorn off tail.

“Barely...shutting down the fuel to engine one...getting the fire extinguishers for the fuselage....”

“Hurry. What’s left of her tail feels like a stick shift...”

The clouds cleared and we had a glimpse of the badly damage Citation and the bogey heading back toward them.

“Got some of the fire,” Joe was saying, “but can’t get it all...maybe we’d better abort and make a water landing while we still can...I know you wanted to spare the statue, Lee, but it is just a statue, after all.”

“The hell she is...you’d better bail. I’m putting us in between her and the bogey. Nose to nose.”

“He’ll blow us apart!”

“Not if I aim the laser right before he can fire!”

“What setting?”

“Max.”

“Damn.”

“Hey, you wanted to join me on this ride, remember.”

“Somebody had to look after you.”

“Gee, thanks...in all honesty, Joe. Thanks. I’d rather not be alone when I go meet my maker.”

“I thought you said we’d get the bogey before it gets us.”

“I was being hopeful...this damn eyeball is not the best laser device in the world. Wish its X-ray gadget could have done something more than show me that the pilot’s a girl. Damn, I hate war.”

“Here she comes....”

“Hold your breath...

We saw it all. The green beam aimed smack into the enemy cockpit, one second, two seconds as they neared each other for the inevitable impact or the bogey’s firepower against the Citation.

“Nothing’s happening!” Riley wept.

Then the bogey’s cockpit exploded and its debris fell into the harbor.

“Full left rudder, if we still have it,” Lee said, as the Citation began to veer away from the debris and from Lady Liberty.

It was silent in the cockpit, but cheering erupted in the situation room, as it did aboard Seaview. I had already shrunk down onto the deck, my back against the plot table, tears of sheer relief running down my face. I didn’t care it was undignified but my boy was alive. My boy and his loyal friend, who had so bravely faced a horrendous death for an ideal.

“Flyboy 007 to the situation room,” Lee finally said, “come in please.”

“If they can still hear us,” Joe said. “Probably took us off their sights after you argued with the president.”

“This is the Secretary of Defense, go ahead Flyboy 007,” he said with undisguised emotion.

“Reporting that a certain lady is safe, and we’d appreciate you getting in touch with the Liberty Island police to pick up some PR alliance pilots in the drink...they all seem to be alive.”

“This is Assistant Mayor Corvair of New York City,” a disembodied voice said. “Police boats on the way...well done, Mr. President! Well done!”

More cheering.

“Thanks, but it’s JCML and Joe Jackson, sir. But thanks. Mr. Mayor? I don’t suppose we can borrow a runway at LaGuardia? We’re a little damaged, and might not be able to stay aloft much longer.”

“Lee?” Joe asked, “Did you get flight insurance when you rented this bird?”

“Was too busy just renting her. I know we’ll have to be billed for major repairs...why?”

“One of our wheels just broke off.”

Silence.

“There goes my retirement...”

“What retirement? You don’t have enough saved up for one week! And forget about Social Security. Won’t be enough there when you qualify either. Face it, bro. We’re sunk.”

“Have I asked you for one thin dime?””

“No, but you’ve got it anyway. Even though it could barely pay for a tire....we’re getting close to the airport....”

“Mr. Mayor?” Lee asked, “We’ll be coming in lopsided, with any luck. Might have to make a belly-flop...”

“We’ve been following your conversation. All the runways are foamed. Just take your pick.”

“Thank you, sir.”

“We’d also like the status of the attack on the U.S. and U.K.”

“This is the Secretary of Defense. The UK reports a complete victory over missiles and jet aircraft. Some damage to major cities, haven’t gotten any casualty reports yet. As for us, well, some damage, mostly unpopulated areas, no casualty reports yet...for all intents and purposes, the battle’s over.”

“For now, anyway,” Lee sighed.

“Lee?” I asked, still on the deck, using the plot table’s mike. “How are you and Joe? Not the damn plane, you yourselves.”

“Well, looks like Joe’s got himself a few burns...managed to go back into the fray to put out the rest of the fires....”

“And you, son?”

“I’m fine.”

“Very funny,” Joe said. “he got himself some pretty ugly cuts to his face and hands from when he smashed the cockpit’s side windows so he could use his eyeball’s laser against the bogeys instead of reflecting back toward us. It’s a dead loss now, the eyeball. Can’t see a thing out of it now. Especially since it had already been damaged. Perhaps you can put in a good word with the SecNav? To approve a replacement since it was totaled in line of duty?”

“We weren’t on duty,” Lee corrected. “I’ll have to do with one of the glass eyes I have. Sure can’t afford a working prosthesis after wrecking the Citation.”

“Let me speak to congress,” the Secretary of State said. “I think they just may approve purchasing a replacement.”

“Without the extras,” the president said. “Good God, why wasn’t I informed of your sideline as a spy?”

“Field Agent,” both Lee and Joe said, “And,” Joe added, “and long before he was first drafted to the Oval Office. SEAL and ONI duty mostly.”

“Still, no X-ray vision on the new one, That would be considered by most Americans as an invasion of privacy.”

“He has to switch it on for that...”Joe said. “And he’s no voyeur. Only used it on the bogey to see if they had heat seeking rockets...which they didn’t.”

“And no lasers,” the president said. “that gadgetry would be considered concealed weapons.”

“As long as I can see out of it, I’ll be happy,” Lee said.
“Then congress will have my endorsement as well as the secretary’s.”

“Thank you both.”

“I still don’t like you, Mister Nelson-Crane,” the president said, “but the people do...plus being handicapped as well as brain damaged, well, they’ll demand you at least be given the opportunity to see.”

“There’s LaGuardia,” Joe interrupted.

“LaGuardia? This is Flyboy 007 requesting permission to land,” Lee said as the situation room picked up scattered cellphone cameras and press arriving at the airport’s glass walled observation lobby.

“My God, look at her,” one of the generals said as we got closer views. Indeed, the Citation was severely damaged and parts of her fuselage torn away. Her partial tail, for some reason still functional, looked a bit like shredded fiberglass, and part of the cockpit windshield cracked and the sides open to the wind. We could see the boys pulling off their oxygen masks as they landed. It was a reasonable landing if one didn’t count the lopsidedness which caused the foam to spray on, up, and over the plane while emergency vehicles were blowing their sirens and speeding toward the aprons on the sides of the runway.

After the plane came to a stop, the cockpit door opened, and Joe lowered the door’s step down ladder to the foamy tarmac, and climbed down, congratulated by the emergency crews, the mayor, and police. But when Lee strode down, there was utter chaos of congratulations from both they and the cellphone users.

“...And so,” a CNN reporter was saying, “former President Nelson-Crane and former Navy Cdr. Joe Jackson, have safely arrived at LaGuardia after what is being called their miracle flight in saving the Statue of Liberty. Nelson-Crane is walking around the plane with his colleague and the mayor, inspecting the heavily damaged Citation. It looks like the mayor is asking about the B-007 on what’s left of the tail. There are no model B-007’s. Rental agency spokesmen have indicated that B-007 was spray painted on the tail, for an extra charge, by the flyers as a reference to James Bond aka agent 007....Nelson-Crane is patting the cockpit...giving it a ‘well done’...”

Those of us aboard Seaview knew it was more than that though. It was the same reverential appreciation Lee gave Seaview. Indeed this baby deserved it as well.

A wave toward the crowd pressing against the windows above in the terminal, and he and Joe were escorted into the mayor’s limo and driven away.

Sparks had ten split screens up and one by one we had more news coverage of the battle across the country...but all reports included footage from the hand held phone cams by citizenry outside or in shelters of buildings, to watch the battle for the Statue of Liberty. Indeed, the symbol, as Lee had said, of the nation.

Saving her, and risking their lives doing so, our boys showed the naysayers, of which there were still many, that there were still things worth fighting for.

***

Emmie called me later, as we both watched TV coverage of Lee and Joe returning to Washington DC. After a short respite with the mayor, the boys had been escorted back to the airport, and to a commuter jet, courtesy of New York City, to fly to Dulles Airport. They were the only passengers.

The First Lady was waiting with Mrs. C. at the ‘incoming flights’ lobby. They were having a difficult time fielding questions by the press and public, all anxious to see the boys come through the flight’s gate.

“Both the president and I are very proud of Mr. Nelson-Crane and Mr. Joseph Jackson. True heroes and patriots.”

Despite her words, there were those who wanted to know why the president was there to greet them.

“I’m afraid duty called him elsewhere,” she said, without a trace of hollowness.

For all intents and purposes, to the public, the president was just too busy running the country.

Neither Emmie nor I believed it. He was probably just too jealous to give credit where credit was due.

The lobby erupted with applause as the boys came through the gate. Both had received some first aid, as Joe’s hands were heavily bandaged, and Lee sported band aids on his face and bandages on his hands. His black eyepatch, hiding his ‘spy eye’ as the press was calling it now, had an American flag sticker on it.

Their clothes were rumpled and sweat stained, with splatters of blood on Lee’s shirt and cuffs. His hair was badly mussed, with traces of blood in it.

But Lee’s sunshine smile and wave made one, at least, momentarily, forget his and Joe’s battle scars.

Mrs. C. embraced him, smothering him with kisses, while the First Lady embraced Joe giving him a peck on the cheek, then to Lee as Mrs. C. relinquished her hold her son to greet Joe warmly and kissed his cheek as the First Lady had.

The Secret Service was escorting the four toward the exit, but Lee suddenly stopped, and knelt down in front of a man in a wheelchair. He was an elderly man, but wearing a Veteran of Foreign Wars pin on his lapel and khaki cap. He made no response.

“My grandfather,” the woman wheeling him said. “He had a stroke and we thought a trip someplace nice would be good for him.”

“What service was he in?” Lee asked gently.

“Air Force, Korea. Sgt. Macey.”

Lee took the man’s limp hands and held them in his.

“Sgt. I don’t know if you can hear or even understand me, but I’m so grateful to you. For helping to make this country what it is...God bless you.”

Lee bowed his head as if in prayer, then rose, “Thank you for your love and care of him, Ma’am. I’ll pray the trip will help him too. When you come back, stop by Blair House for dinner, both of you. That’s where my Mom are going to be for awhile, unless things change, but if they do, the staff will know where to find us.”

“Thank you Mr. President,” the woman said, tears in her eyes.

“No...that title belongs to someone else. Just call me Lee...JCML for short...”

“God bless you Lee!”

“And God bless all Americans who believe in freedom!”

There wasn’t a dry eye in the place.

I was holding back my own tears as well as the Secret Service and police escorted the First Lady, Mrs. C., Lee and Joe to the waiting White House limo.

In minutes they were gone.

“I’ve thought about names for the twins,” Edith changed the subject as I turned off my videophone’s news coverage.

“Yes, dear?”

“I think we’ll go with Aurora and Jimmy. Just like Lee said they wanted us to name them.”

“You’ve decided to believe in his near death experience, after all?”

“No, but I think the names are fitting. Aurora Leigh Nelson and Jimmy Lee Nelson. What do you think?”

For a moment I was speechless.

“I think we’ll have a hell of a time convincing Lee to accept their middle names,” I said, “you know how he has a difficult time with praise of any kind.”

“But what do you think?”

“I think I’m pleased as punch about it.”

“Well, let’s call him as soon as he’s back in the White House, or Blair House, or where-ever they put him and Mrs. C. for the night.”

Needless to say, when we did make contact, still at the White House, Lee was embarrassed and tried to talk us out of our naming plans, but gave up seeing how convinced we were.

“Got your eyeball ready for forensics?” Joe asked, “oh, sorry...didn’t mean to interrupt.”

“Forensics?” I asked.

“It caught something when it was on assignment.”

“On assignment?” Emmie asked, confused.

“Afraid so,” Lee said. “Only I’m not quite sure how to handle what it recorded, kind of fuzzy.”

“I’m sure you’ll do the right thing, Lad. As you always do.”

“Sweetheart?” Mrs. C. said entering the sitting room. “You promised to take Winston for a walk. Oh, hello Emily, Harriman.”

“The crowds won’t let us take a step without showering me with praises...I don’t like it. Joe and I both did what any patriot would have done and...”

“Just accept it,” Emmie said. “We’re so proud of you, Lee!”

“You’re going to keep bugging me about going outside, aren’t you?” Lee demanded of his mother.

“In a word, yes. But take a Secret Service agent with you...it’s okay, the president agreed to it.”

“Maybe he’s the one with brain damage,” Joe joked.

“All right, Mom. Winston? C’mon along.”

In minutes, Lee, Winston, and Joe departed, no doubt to be accompanied by one or more ‘babysitters’, to what kind of reception outside, I could only suppose Lee’s ears were going to be ringing from all the applause and cheering when he came back in.

“You know,” Mrs. C. told us, “I’ve been thinking about what Angus McDonald always said.”

“Angus?” Emmie asked, “I don’t seem to remember...”

“He’s the Scot who said Lee was anointed by God. I think I’ve come to believe it.”

“I think I have too,” I said.

She smiled and returned to her packing in the part of the residence that the president and First Lady hadn’t taken over yet, and I returned my attention to Emmie. We turned the news back on and watched as our boy received the adulation he so richly deserved.

I couldn’t help thinking that, even without the George Washington ring on his finger, where it truly belonged, old George would be mighty proud of one Lee Beauregard Nelson-Crane. Ex-president extraordinaire.

~***~

Chapter Nineteen